


coma baby-;

by Foschia



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Amnesiac Stiles Stilinski, Angst, M/M, i have literally never posted a single fanfic of mine online lord help me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-21
Updated: 2014-12-03
Packaged: 2018-02-26 10:50:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2649251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Foschia/pseuds/Foschia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a weight, heavy on his chest, it makes his heart pump faster and breath come out in a raspy tremble barely escaping his lips. There's the taste of iron in his mouth, far from welcoming, it was so /bitter/. He drifts back off when he hears rushed footsteps towards his direction, barely able to keep his eyes open because the world is spinning and he feels like he's upside down, and there's the harsh bite of vomit at the back of his throat. </p>
<p>in which angst happens and i'm really bad at writing summary's shoot me</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. ch. 1

**Author's Note:**

> _with your sick head,_  
>  the doctors saved you  
> but you're still dead.

He barely registers the moment the car collides against the driver's side, barely realizes his head collides with the dashboard, doesn't even notice the warmth of red liquid trickling from a large cut above his eyebrow. What he does register is the police sirens, loud and blaring and //screaming//; because he faintly remembers asking himself why they were so loud, and thinking about how fucking annoying they were. There's a weight, heavy on his chest, it makes his heart pump faster and breath come out in a raspy tremble barely escaping his lips. There's the taste of iron in his mouth, far from welcoming, it was so /bitter/. He drifts back off when he hears rushed footsteps towards his direction, barely able to keep his eyes open because the world is spinning and he feels like he's upside down, and there's the harsh bite of vomit at the back of his throat. Everything goes black, and he fades in and out of consciousness in the back of a sterile white ambulance. Stiles wakes up with a pounding headache and a throb above his right eye, and it hurts every time he breathes. He's staring up at the ceiling with a bleary gaze, before he recognizes the steady beep of the heart monitor in the room rips him out of his final stages of sleep. He comes to a conclusion that he's stupidly proud of, and that's the fact he's currently in the hospital- But his mind is blank. The poor teen doesn't remember jacksquat. 

The door to the large, white machine filled room opens; And in comes a nurse in blue scrubs with blonde hair and a pretty red lipped smile, asking him how he's feeling, and the man following behind her goes unnoticed, because right now, Stiles' attention is focused solely on the gorgeous woman in front of him. "I-" His throat hurts, and he chokes on his spit and ends up sputtering out some nonsense that can't be made sense of, because he's so doped up on morphine and everything hurts and he can't fucking focus. He takes in the black haired stranger in the room, standing at the foot of his bed with wide eyes and a tightly clenched jaw, worry plastered across his stubbled face. "Stiles, what happened?" So many questions ran through the brunet's mind at that moment. Why am I here? What really happened? How long was I out? But the only thought that can be formed to be even remotely pieced together to form a correct sentence was, "Who are you?" The man's face falls, looking so utterly broken, before shifting into that hardened expression that Stiles somehow finds familiar, and almost welcoming, but Stiles' defense is up and he's tense. 

His lunch consists of crackers and sprite, they won't give him anything else, claiming it'll upset his stomach and he's still recovering from shock. The doctor claims he got into a wreck with his father driving, and when he questions about John, curious, because this man was supposedly his dad. All he gets is a sad stare and a shake of the head, and an awkward clearing of the throat. Stiles doesn't ask anymore questions, he just nibbles on the half eaten saltine cracker, trying his best not to vomit over himself due to the stale taste in his mouth. His efforts are wasted, because after the doctor leaves the room, he loses what was left of his appetite and throws up on the floor. The next visitor he gets is a redhead who's name is Lydia, and she acts like they were close, so Stiles grins and bears it and acts like it too, but he rips away from any touch. He's almost repulsed by having somebody in his room; he just wants to sleep. He doesn't see his doctor much, it's always the blonde nurse that he's grown to take a liking to, but he can't remember her name. When she leaves, it's around six o'clock, and the nurse's shift ends in another thirty minutes, so he's left to himself for the rest of the night; And even if he doesn't want to admit it, he feels so alone, and he doesn't like it. But his body's sore, and he feels sick again, like the whole room is spinning every time he moves- Is he ever going to get better?

The man comes once a day, and he learns his name is Derek. Stiles grows used to his presence, and starts to wonder when he's going to come over again; but it's routine, now. He always visits around three o'clock, and he's so gentle with Stiles, even if he intimidates him like a freshman cornered by a senior football player. He plays with the white sheets in his hands, twists them and entwines his fingers within the sharp wrinkles one day, biting his tongue and eventually growing the nerve to ask if they were close. "Before the accident, y'know." He adds on, quickly, and Derek's face is one of the unreadable types. He nods his head, and Stiles feels a ping of guilt flooding his senses, expression softening and he suddenly can't look him in the eye anymore. 

He temporarily forgets where he is when he wakes up; everything is blank and numb and not right, but the nurse comes in and it reminds him that he's in a hospital, his name is Stiles, and he got in a wreck which would explain the pounding headache he has. It's been four days since the accident, he thinks, and the doctor has lessened his morphine intake bit by bit. Dr. Swanson says it's for the best, but Stiles feels like shit. He sits upright for the first time by himself, wincing at the sting in his side, and he nearly cries. The world spins and he feels ready to lay back down- but the blonde nurse acts so proud of him, so he lets it slide. She pulls open the thick curtains and orange tinted light spills into the room, bouncing off of the white tiles and getting in his eyes, so he groans and puts shaking hands over his face. Derek comes in about three hours after that, fingers laced around the pink string that leads up to an even brighter pink "Get Well" balloon. Stiles finds this hilarious, his lips twist upwards into a lopsided grin, breathing a laugh through his nose, and Derek justifies it with a grunt and a short, "It was all they had." But he can see the amused twinkling in the man's bright eyes despite the irritable voice.

Derek wraps the balloon string around the metal frame of the bed, ties a loose knot and sits at the edge. "How are you feeling?" Stiles fidgets under the sheets, picks at his hangnails and manages a shrug of his shoulders. "Tired," his voice is still raspy and heavy, and his throat itches. "Sore." He adds on; Derek stares at him and pats him on the knee, and shifts. "Your father's funeral is tomorrow. " Stiles knows he's supposed to be sad, supposed to cry and feel like a part of him is missing. But he just stares with lidded eyes and swallows around a lump in his throat. Derek looks at him as if he expects a reaction, an outburst of anger and tears and pure emotion, but his gaze drops to the floor and he sighs through his nose. "Maybe you should go, yeah? I can stop by and pick you up around ten." Derek wants to say something more, and Stiles can tell by the way his lips move and a whisper dies on his tongue. He doesn't try to ask and pressure further, but his lips twitch to form a faint smile. "Yeah," he breathes, "That would be nice. Thank you."

Derek nods, clenching his jaw and drumming his fingers against his leg. He changes the subject considering the fact the silence has grown awkward, and began to eat away at their conscious, "We were all so worried about you." He licks his lips and inspects the male's face, "We heard what happened, and they wouldn't let us see you." 'They wouldn't let /me/ see you' goes left unsaid, but Stiles senses it anyways, and he whispers an apology, a thank you, and then asks for him to leave. Derek does just that, but his eyes hold so much guilt, like he blames himself for it. The door shuts behind him with a click, and Stiles feels the heavy emptiness that comes with it. Everything's a bitter blur after that.  
  
\---  
The water cascades him in a steaming hot spray; Slipping from his form and soothing his sore limbs, and it feels so good that he slides to the floor and tucks his knees up under himself. He lets himself go, just for a second, and lets the water pour over him, turning his bruised skin a flushed red. The steam makes it harder to breathe, but his head thumps back against the shower wall, plump lips parted, hazel eyes drooped shut. He feels so vulnerable at that moment in time, and by the time his eyes open, he's in tears. They pour down his face in a hot flash, and he tucks his face in this arms and openly sobs, body trembling from every exhale that rips through his body like hot white lightning. He doesn't want to be weak, he wants to remember who he was before the crash, he wants to be able to feel some kind of remorse for his father without it being forced and faking crocodile tears. But he's not getting any better, he's still so broken and fragile and so fucking useless.

He stays in the shower for at least thirty more minutes, and scrubs his body clean with Motel-6 worthy soap that smells like shit and bland smelling shampoo.


	2. ch. 2

There's people here that he doesn't even know.

And they keep crowding in on him, cooing over how much older he's gotten, and how they remember him being so small. They comment on how much he looks like his dad, and then get teary eyed and tug him into their deathly hugs- He's so uncomfortable, and the tie that's pulled taut around his neck feels like it's choking him. It's so weird being surrounded by people who know who you are, but yet you've feel as if you've never seen them in your entire life; It almost brings him into a spiraling depression, but Derek clasps his hand on his shoulder and tells him it's almost time to go. Stiles has not went anywhere near the open casket since he's been here, but he gnaws on the scarring tissue of his bottom lip and is lead towards it with gentle hands. He doesn't want to look, and narrowly avoids doing so, fingers fidgeting underneath the white sleeves of his suit. He purses his lips, spins on his heel and stares at the man towering over him. "I don't want to see him. Can we go back?" His voice cracks, and he can't help but feel as if he's so absolutely pitiful. 

They stepped outside roughly twenty minutes later, the funeral was nearing it’s end. Early winters chill bit at Stiles’ flushed skin with unwelcoming arms. He licks his chapped lips, pulling the leather jacket Derek had handed him moments ago closer to his face. Derek leads him to the black camaro parked in the grass. He faintly notices the larger male opening the car door for him, ushering him in, and the leather squeaks beneath the sudden shift in weight as he slips in through the door. Stiles rubs at his eyes with the heavily calloused palms of his hands, and he sees stars behind closed eyelids before he focuses back in on the dashboard. Derek shuts the car door, and flops in the drivers seat with a grunt, glancing over at him with curious blue eyes. "Are you okay?" And Stiles just shrugs, fingers lacing around the seatbelt pulled tight over his torso. He parts his lips and breathes out, breath dancing in the chilled air before fading into nothing, and he glances upwards with a hardened expression. His eyebrows knit together, forehead wrinkling as he scans Derek's expression silently; "I don't know," he admits. "... My head hurts."

He feels almost at ease with Derek by his side, he feels protected and the man was practically a walking furnace to keep him warm as they walked up the steps to Derek's loft, and his hands tremble uselessly at his sides; fidgeting and curling beneath the jacket hugged tight to his frame for any bit of warmth. "They're letting you stay with me until they get a hold of an immediate family member," Derek notes as they walk up the last staircase; Sounding nowhere near out of breath like Stiles was. "From the looks of it, you'll be here for awhile." And Stiles is somewhat grateful, because he's grown so adjusted to Derek's heavy presence that he almost doesn't want to be tossed into the arms of someone who he didn't know to begin with. He swallows around a growing lump in his throat, dry and itchy, and nods as they come up to the last step. He watches Derek fish out his keys from his back pocket and twist them in the lock, and the door opens with the faintest of clicks before pushing open, groaning on the rusty hinges. 

The loft being so empty is what catches Stiles' attention first; But the large bay windows are the second thing. Light pours in through slightly grungy glass, reflecting off of the uncarpeted flooring, revealing the slivers of dust dancing in the still air. It's a large, opened area, but it's warm and reminds him so much of Derek. He slips off the coat and steps further in, away from the cold and turns around on his heel. "It's dusty. And bland." He makes a face, and Derek looks temporarily irritated but shrugs it off and takes the coat from Stiles' grasp. "Just like you!" The boy adds on, cracking a lopsided grin that plays so nicely on his face. He finds this absolutely hilarious, and bursts out into laughter for the first time since the accident, and Derek manages a chuckle just for his amusement. The larger of the two hangs the coat up on a rack by the door and walks further inside, pointing halfheartedly at the couch. "You can sleep there, it's a pull-out."

Derek cooks them both some kind of pasta that makes his mouth water just by the smell of, full of spices and homemade sauce simmered to what Stiles would call perfection. Derek smacks him away when he reaches to scoop two fingers in the sauce, and comments about how he can make himself of use and set the table, which he does in a hurry because his stomach is growling and sounds like a dying cat. It's served messily, sauce dripping off of the side of the white plate, but he doesn't waste time with putting it on the table and grabbing his fork. It's spicy and delicious and Derek gives him an odd stare with eyebrows knitted together when he moans out loud, because this is easily the best food he's had since he woke up in the hospital. "... What?"

Bedtime comes faster than he hoped for, and he helps Derek clean off the dishes and store the leftovers in the fridge, and Derek chuckles at him when he hums a song while washing a plate off, fit with moving his hips side to side and being lost in his own world. He faintly recalls Derek calling him a housewife. He nestles up on the futon quietly just a few minutes later, eyes lidded and chest moving with quiet breaths. "Thanks, Der." And he's out like a light. He doesn't realize Derek watches over him like a hawk throughout the night, making sure he's covered up to his nose, and sits by him on a shoddy little recliner the entire time he slept and fell asleep himself.

Derek wakes up early afternoon the next morning, with a crick in his neck and the back of his eyes throb and he feels heavy as he drags himself to his feet. "Stiles?" He calls out to the empty living room; He smells bacon as he nears the kitchen, and he doesn't quite register Stiles standing there at the oven for a few seconds, opening his mouth once or twice before cracking into a light grin. "Did you make enough for me, too?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kinda had no idea how to write this chapter wow

**Author's Note:**

> oh my god i have never posted any of my stories online  
> please, if you notice anything that needs fixing, let me know  
> also totally open to crits and requests and the likes aaa <3
> 
> song title is by nicole dollanganger


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